


Is This the Way a Toy Feels When It's Batteries Run Dry

by ascoolsuchasi



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascoolsuchasi/pseuds/ascoolsuchasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is diagnosed with t-cell prolymphotic leukemia and has one year to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is This the Way a Toy Feels When It's Batteries Run Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt [here](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/7315.html?thread=13830547#t13830547) for the lovely [](http://kathrynparis.livejournal.com/profile)
> 
>  **Warning:** cancer (and everything that entails), bruises, coughing up blood, blood, bile, (major) character death, and vomiting.

It starts with a cell. Maybe a handful. Starts in the bone, deep within the marrow. Leukocytes that never fully mature.

Then signs, symptoms, but of course, that comes later.

And much later comes death.

_‘Mr Xavier?’_

"Speaking."  
 __

_‘Mr Xavier, this is Jean from Dr Frie's office. You need to come to the office. The test results just came in.’_   


For a long while, he doesn't say anything.He sits with his mouth agape and staring at the phone.

It feels like hours later when Sean walks in and asks "Hey prof, what's up?".

And Charles shakes his head and hangs up the phone.

"Nothing Sean." He tries to smile. "I think I'm going out for a bit. You and the rest can busy yourself with something, yes?"

Sean nods. "Yeah. Sure." And he goes wandering off.

***

The only thing Charles can equate it to is that it's like playing chess when all your pawns are gone and your rook is one move away from being capture. 

He rubs at his arms gently, too aware that any wrong move, any touch too rough and he’d bruise. And another bruise means more time concentrating on making sure no one sees.

He takes in a large and deep breath. When he exhales, it’s shuddery. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his breathing at a normal and regulated pace. Someone was going to notice, he could just tell. And at that, he’s terrified. _Might not have the energy to --_

“Hey prof?”

Charles shakes his head and looks towards Alex.

“Yes?”

“It’s...Can we...” He looks pointedly towards the hallway leading to the bunkers. “Train? I really think that-”

“That you can get it this time. Yeah, sure. Come on.”

After training, Charles is back in his room, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He’s looking for new forming bruises. He feel out of his chair by the force of one of the energy shots. 

  
_Just know it’s coming._   


And then he spots it. Just above his hip bone and trailing up. Large, yellow blotchy spots are scattered across his side.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. “Just...Bloody hell.”

He sighs and pulls his shirt back on.

  
_Least these aren’t terribly visible._   


***

He knows the worst part isn’t dying. The worst isn’t even leaving everyone behind. Or knowing that there was so much more to do and knowing he couldn’t do any of it. He thinks the worst part maybe the fact that he can’t prevent any of it. Yes, he is an omega level telepath, yes he’s got the beginnings of a school in the works, and yes he’s got the money to do just about everything and anything he could want, but he can’t make himself live.

Charles wheels himself into the dinning room, and tries to smile when he sees that everyone is already there. Sean is talking animatedly to Alex and Hank is finally out and about and talking to one of the newest recruits, Jubilee. 

As Charles finishes up putting the breaks down on his chair, Hank looks to him and squints.

“Are you alright professor? You look a little pale.”

Charles focuses his eyes onto Hank. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes I’m fine.”

Hank looks over him for a moment before saying, “Okay...How do you feel about using Cerebro again?”

At this Charles quirks an eyebrow. “It would be...” He thinks of the amount of energy and concentration that would go into using the machine, thinks of the backlash from the first time he used it and holds back a shudder. “lovely, but we don’t have Cerebro. It’s at the CIA facility.” 

“Well, I was thinking that maybe I could build a new one. A more powerful one. More precise. You know, work the kinks out of the old model.”

Charles shuts his eyes for a moment and forces a smile. “That would be great Hank.” He opens his eyes and tries to focus his vision. “When do you want to start?”

***

Sometimes Charles contemplates telling them. He thinks it might be easier. He wouldn’t have to hide the dark purple splotches that have taken residence around his eyes and his hips and his legs and his arms. He would be able to stop concentrating on making himself look alive and actually live. But, then he thinks of how they would look at him; how they would treat him. Like he was some sort of porcelain doll and more than just three feet into the grave. Just waiting for him to break.

Charles looks up from his book and smiles.

“Yes Ms Pryde?”

“Oh, umm...” She twiddles her hair between her fingers. “Are you okay? You look kind of um-”

Charles gives her a quizzical look. “I look like what?”

“You look starved and not at the same time.” He brown eyes shine watery.

“Kitty, my dear, that doesn’t make any sense. One can’t be starved and not.”

“But you do...”

Charles chuckles hollowly and glances down at his hands. He’s surprised at what he sees. The skin stretched over bone and muscle is thin and spindly. If you stared long enough you could see the blood flow through his veins.

His eyes travel farther down to his belly. It’s swollen and he can’t remember the last time he properly ate without throwing it up twenty minutes later.

He realizes she can see this-that everyone can see this. His control is slipping; concentration faltering. And knows he has no choice, but he can try to prolong the inevitable.

“See?”

He looks back up to Kitty and tries his hardest to smile.

“I don’t see anything wrong, Ms Pryde.” He voices catches in his throat. “I don’t think anything is wrong. Now,” He sets his book down next to him. “I believe you still have time to train, and it would be appreciated if you do.”

Kitty bites at her lip, giving Charles a worrying glance before she nods and walks off.

***

Erik,

  
Come home.

  
Charles

  
There’s so much more he wishes he could say. So much more that he _needs_ to say, but he’s shaking so hard now and he can’t form anything that looks close to written language. He might as well be writing in hieroglyphics. 

He looks down to the his letter and tears well in his eyes. He needs to do this, even if it’s the last thing he does. _But it won’t_ he tells himself _it can’t be._ So he takes out a new sheet and holds his biro to it. 

  
Erik,

  
I miss you.

  


He lurches suddenly and the pen in his hand flies across the paper, smearing it in ink. He takes his shaking hands and covers his mouth. Coughs rake through his body at an alarming force. And by the time they’re gone, his throat is ragged and rough and there’s some amount of spittle and blood in his hands. Even if he never looks down to confirm it, he can feel it, the warmth of it and the copper taste in his mouth.

He wipes his hands on his trousers, not caring about stains or sanitation or anything really. He reaches across his desk and grabs at his biro. He takes another sheet out, and holds the pen to it, his left hand covering the right; stilling it. It takes him a while, it takes him many tries, and many sheets of paper and quiet a few biros but he gets it. _Finally,_ he gets it.

  
Erik, 

  
I miss you. I need you. Come back to me.

  
Charles

***

Charles’ cardigan hangs loosely everywhere but tight around his gut where it’s stretched too thin. Where Dr Frie said that his spleen and liver have swollen; too much infection. It’s why he’s losing weight and rapid pace, but never feels hungry. It’s the reason every one gives him an odd look and tries not to touch him. The reason they think he’s fragile, like a glass figurine. His cheeks have hollowed and the dark rings around his eyes are a permanent fixture. He can’t concentrate any longer on the illusion. 

 

He gathers everyone to one of the drawing rooms.

He looks at his students with sad, big eyes. His breathing is ragged and he raises a hand when Ororo opens her mouth to speak. He wets his chapped lips and says, “I have T-cell prolymphocytic leukaemia.” and his eyes start to water. “I’m sorry everyone. I’m dying.”

Alex speaks up first with “What the hell is T-cell proly-whatever-the-fuck?”

Sean cocks his head to the side. “You’re dying?”

Jean tears up and holds onto Ororo and tries to stop shaking.

Hank is silent.

Kitty crosses her arms and says, “You’re lying, you have to be. It’s not funny.”

Charles nods. “I wish I was.” He wipes at his eyes. And after a beat, “Erik’s coming. He’s going to tak- he’s going to help out around until I’m- until I can’t.” 

***

He’s long since taken the helmet off. It has long since stopped being an imperative. Having control over magnetic fields -- the waves and channels and physical -- has given way to near telepathy, if only he could decipher. But, he doesn’t use it. He could, but he won’t. He needs to have all of him laid out for Charles and Charles needs all of him.

“You needn’t destroy humanity, Erik.” Charles look up to him from his newspaper with a sad smile. “It’s not going to reign in my rampant t-cells and stop me from dying.”

Erik’s jaw clenches. 

“I‘d rather much,” Charles’ thin hand reaches for his, “have the remainder of my time with you, rather than vicariously through the news.”

Erik looks at Charles quietly. Stares at sunken cheeks and hollow blue eyes and tries to remember how Charles looked with hair.

“Erik,” Charles hands trail their way up to hold Erik’s face, “I want you to fuck me and fuck me like I’m not dying.”

And Erik gasps but closes the distant between them with only minimal resistance. When they pull away, Erik wraps his arms around Charles lithe waist and picks him up.

He smiles softly at Charles and walks him to the bedroom.

***

Erik wishes that it was more than sunny and bright and with only a few clouds in the sky. It’s spring and he wishes that it was raining and dark and with thunder and with lightening. Something significant or something cliché so it wouldn’t feel real. So that he could come home and walk into the third floor study and find a smiling, blue eyed Charles looking up from some book on genetics or psychology or biophysics.

“...and now we shall wish him a good travel to the after life.”

Raven’s there, something that Erik didn’t think would happen but then, he thinks, _I’m here_ and ends those thoughts there.

He holds a tiny Jean Grey to his side and pats at her head and wipes the tears from her face.

When he gets to the mansion, he’s still hoping this is some sort of fucked up joke.

***

It had been a long, long day. Erik leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose in attempt to dissuade the migraine digging at the back of his head. He sighs and looks out the window and a faint smile draws on his face.

Sean is running about with Ororo, Jean, and Kitty chasing after him. Alex and Hank sitting under a tree. Faintly, he could hear their laughter.

He turns at the sound of the door opening. His smile almost falters when he sees who it is.

“Mystique.”

“Hello, Erik.”

She has one hand balanced on her belly and the other on the small of her back. She’s as blue and as beautiful as ever.

Erik nods his head toward her swollen belly and asks, “How is he? Azazel?”

She smiles softly and blinks slowly and says, “Good.” and after a beat, “Both.” then she takes a step further into the office and says, “You’re looking better.”

Erik grunts out an affirmation at that and turns to look out the window again. Softly, almost inaudibly and mostly to himself, he asks, “Do you think he would have liked this? Be proud and such?”

Raven walks further into the room, enough so that she can place a hand on his shoulder and lean down to whisper, “Yes.” and presses a kiss to his cheek, “Yes he would have.”


End file.
